Easy
by Zagury
Summary: It was easy to love Ginny.


It was easy, to be Harry around her. She just knew you. It was easy to laugh, and it was easy to cry. Everything was simple, the emotions, the touches, the kisses and hugs. Everything made sense, from those three little words to watching her sleep in the middle of the night. It wasn't hard to show her you cared. It wasn't hard to express yourself, and it wasn't hard to fill silences.

It was easy to love Ginny.

It was like playing Quidditch; you just knew what you were doing, without thinking about it. The mere touches and kisses, you just knew that she didn't put thought into it. It just happened, and that was the way both of you liked it. Of course, there was a meaning in every contact; every holding of your hand, but it wasn't planned. She just knew you wanted to be near her, and she did something about it.

There was no effort in your marriage. Why should there be when it was all based on pure love? Sure, you had your fair share of arguments, but they never got past yelling. You would sit down on the couch and talk things through, the two of you. Sometimes no agreement would come, just the simplicity of knowing each other's opinion on the matter.

Now, sitting on that couch, there were no words to be spoken. Just the sound of your breathing, her head laying upon your chest as you watch the air from your lungs blow a few strands across her face. She fiddled with the rim of your glasses, gently tracing that lightning bolt scar, the one she seemed to love. She had always said that it wasn't because it meant you had survived the Killing Curse. She said it was because it was a part of you.

She said you wouldn't be Harry without that scar. You had pointed out that you wouldn't be the Boy Who Lived, either. She had shaken her head and said that you just wouldn't be Harry. She had often told you that she hadn't fallen in love with the Boy Who Lived. She had fallen in love with Harry.

Just Harry.

Even now, as she kissed you in that way that she did, you remembered that you were, indeed, just Harry. You were her Harry, as she had claimed you that night, and you had claimed her. You ask her, now, if she remembers that night. And she says yes with the utmost defiance.

Ginny sighs and rests her head against your chest again. You keep in mind that she is tired, and it seems Quidditch practice for the Harpies seems to be beating on her more that it did at Hogwarts. You stroke her hair now, as she likes that. She mumbles something before drifting off, right there, on top of you on the couch.

You smile and let her sleep.

It had been a beautiful spring day, but the night was darker and much warmer. The flat you owned was small, nothing compared to the house you owned now. But it had been enough for you, and for her when she wanted to stay. You had just brought her back from dinner, as she had been excited because the dinner had been fancy and excellent. She had been dressed in that brilliant red dress that complimented her freckles so well.

You had led her to the bedroom. You remember how she kissed you then, much like how she had just kissed you moments before. She had been calm, just as you were. Because this was Ginny, and nothing was hard or nerve-wracking with Ginny. And because you were Harry, and it seemed to apply to you with her. She had cast the Contraceptive Charm, and you had smiled at her.

She had ridded your clothes, as you had ridded hers. You hadn't imagined her body, so slim and narrow and yet muscular and firm. Your body hadn't changed much over the years, except for the few noticeable pounds Mrs. Weasley had put on you. You remember how freckles had been scattered all over her creamy skin.

You remember how she hadn't grimaced as much as she should have when you first entered her. She was still so calm and in control, while you felt you couldn't hold your body back. She had whispered something, and that had been your undoing. You had tried to make it easier for her. But that had been so hard, when she had been telling you to let go, to feel.

So you did. Because doing what Ginny asked was your real calling, not killing the Dark Lord, not saving the Wizarding World. No. Your life had always been about Ginny Weasley. Or, more formally, Ginny Potter. It had just taken sixteen years to realize it.

When you had released into her, draining into her body, you had felt complete. She had looked at you with utter contentment and sincerity. And you had fallen asleep, her head curled under your chin, her body fitting against yours in that way. And when you had woke, she had not moved.

You smile now and let her sleep.


End file.
